


The Night Starts Here

by bionic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:16:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bionic/pseuds/bionic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're packing everything up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night Starts Here

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the future, may be domestic, with lots of porn.

Kitchen, sun, Dean, flecks of gold. Boxes. Sam pulling Dean to him, warm, tawny, taste of sun and heat, the smell of old books, worn pages, and dust, the taste of home, the taste of memories. Sam in t-shirt and jeans, Dean the same. Sam with a soft leather cord tied around his wrist, the ends trail along the inside of Dean’s arm as his hands land softly on Sam’s hips, and Dean’s body no longer quakes of fear or restraint, but hums with want, a slow-burning desire that can be felt in his kiss, the tease of his tongue, warm and smooth and lewd, the way he licks up into Sam’s mouth without so much as a ‘please’.

Aftershave, spicy in the warm hollow of Sam’s throat, Sam who’s clean-shaven like he’s sixteen again, but with a sharp chin and blunt jaw where Dean likes to rub against with his own two days’ worth of stubble, likes to kiss and suck and lick when all their clothes are gone, only messy sheets and sticky skin.

Wooden table just polished and squeaky clean, Dean gets pushed onto it, his jeans slide effortlessly on the surface until he’s sitting with Sam’s legs on either side of him.

Sam starts at his hips, big hands and warm fingers that sneak under Dean’s shirt and rubs along his sides, around to his lower back until Sam is tipping him backwards on the table. Dean goes, soundlessly, kissing Sam’s pink mouth, eyes closed, hands in Sam’s soft hair and rubbing gently along his scalp.

Sam’s tongue moves slowly in broad strokes along his own, savoring the taste of him. He bends over Dean and his attention wanders to Dean’s neck, pressing hot, wet kisses as far down as the shirt will allow him, just barely grazing Dean’s collarbones with his lips. Dean fists his hands in Sam’s hair and tugs gently, loving the feel of it, Sam’s scalp slightly damp from sweat and packing all day, all their belongings put into neat little boxes. He opens his eyes and sees dust motes drifting in the amber light spilling from the window as the sun sinks, and he laughs quietly, gloriously happy.

Sam kisses him quiet, pressing their groins together sweetly until Dean moans into his mouth, deep and smooth, without a hitch, like liquid honey to Sam’s ears. Dean runs his hands down the side of Sam’s neck and down his chest, slipping under his arms to grab at the back of Sam’s shirt, and feels the old scar through the cotton halfway down, and traces the fingers of one hand over it lightly, feeling Sam’s intake of breath through his chest. Sam’s mouth leaves a wet trail from the underside of Dean’s jaw to his ear, where Sam presses close, his nose tickling the sensitive skin there. Dean turns his head and nips at Sam’s mouth, his lips cool now and still so sweet.

“My ass is starting to hurt,” Dean mumbles with lowered lashes and a slow smile on his face. Sam shakes his head gently with a bemused smile and pulls Dean up to sit against him, their chests touching, hands holding Dean’s hips. Dean can smell pine from the polished table on his shirt, the smell sticking to the back of his throat. He swallows, misses the smell of Sam’s clean sweat, his fingers and the smell of dust and cardboard, earthy scents that go straight to Dean’s dick. He’ll never pack anything again without thinking of this, of Sam’s strong back and calloused hands and open smile, his swollen lips and warm aftershave, the back of Sam’s tanned neck as he bent to kiss Dean’s chest.

Sam steps back and takes Dean’s hand in his. He only has to tug once and Dean is following him to the bedroom, their fingers laced together.

Sam pulls Dean to the edge of the bed then lets him go to tug his shirt over his head. Dean does the same, eyes fixed on Sam’s face, his mouth, the broad set of Sam’s shoulders. He lets his shirt fall to the floor, watching as Sam goes to lie down and scoot up until his back is pressed against the headboard. Dean crawls over him to kneel with his knees on either side of Sam’s thighs, and his hands immediately find the button on Sam’s jeans.

With a soft twist of his fingers, Dean pulls the zipper down and Sam shimmies in place a little, laughing. Then Sam is smiling, grabbing him with one arm around his waist and pulling him close, Dean bending his head to kiss him as Sam arches up, Sam’s arm tightening around him until Dean can feel those muscles against his side, feel his breath run short.

There’s a giant sliding glass door in their room, and the blinds are turned slightly so that one can see the backyard, their ugly brown fence with loose planks, the lone, plastic sprinkler sitting in the freshly shorn grass. Dean can feel the glow of the yellow sun slowly becoming orange, tipping lazily into their bedroom through the blinds and marking up their bed in shadows and light. He closes his eyes and loops his arms around Sam’s neck, kissing him and kissing him and Sam doesn’t loosen his hold, only rubs Dean’s side with his hand and the other, holding the back of Dean’s head.

With Sam’s tongue in his mouth, Dean loses the smell of pine cleaner, and instead he inhales the scent of Sam’s dampening neck where perspiration gathers when he stops kissing him long enough to do so, and when he licks there, he can feel Sam’s pulse against his tongue. Sam gasps and pushes Dean back before tilting his head to kiss up Dean’s neck, paying special attention to Dean’s adam’s apple, biting the skin around it gently with his teeth. Dean’s head falls back and he moans softly, his breath coming loudly. Soon it will be in little fits and starts, stuttering everywhere as he slowly starts to lose control, as Sam slowly unravels him with touch.

Dean’s toes curl in anticipation and he grabs Sam’s head with straining fingers to plant a kiss on his mouth, deep with words he doesn’t need to say, _fuck me, Sam. Love me._ And Sam will do just that, slowly and surely and without any rush, Sam’s answer in the way he runs his hands down Dean’s back to cup his ass, or the way he pushes Dean down into the mattress, flipping them over until Sam is on top, and he lovingly undoes Dean’s jeans, pulling them off Dean’s long legs with perfect ease.

Dean’s eyes are bright and sharp, fringed with long, dark lashes, complete openness in that one look as he watches Sam lean down to kiss the softer skin along the inside of his thigh. Soft moans, Dean’s fingers slowly descending on Sam’s hair as Sam rubs his nose and lips against Dean’s groin, unbelievably warm through the cotton boxers. His unmistakable scent, musky and a bit sweet, remnants of soap from that morning, all of it curls inside Sam until he can feel the slow burning in the pit of his stomach spark brighter, his cock hardening and straining against the open v of his jeans, bumping along the teeth of the zipper and pushing wetly against his underwear. He drags his head up Dean’s chest in a furiously quick lick, flat tongue leaving a broad smear of spit along Dean’s nipple.

Dean’s hips jerk and he moans softly, exhaling even softer, like he’s holding his breath, letting it out in slow, measured intervals. Sam loves the fight for control, one that Dean always inevitably loses to Sam’s touch, and he can tease Dean further without touching his cock, he can leave wet bruises all along Dean’s shoulder and neck and even down the curves and dips of muscles on his arms with his mouth, but he won’t. Dean is loose and pliant today, his skin so warm against Sam’s own, and Sam doesn’t want to play any games or tease or bicker afterwards, like they sometimes can.

He wants Dean, smooth and strong and beautiful, without complications.

After all the books, charms, weapons, all the hidden things they kept in the hall closet, along with the real stuff that sat in plain view, the photos and knick-knacks and mementos of a real life are packed away, all Sam wants is Dean’s touch. The salt of Dean’s skin, the bitterness of his come in Sam’s mouth, Dean’s harsh breaths and deep moans. That’s all Sam wants.

“Are you going to stare all day or do something already?” Dean says breathlessly, eyes half-lidded as they linger on Sam’s mouth. Sam grins and kisses Dean hard, pressing him into the bed.

On Dean’s body, there are many scars, but most of them have faded into pale shadows, and he knows that Sam likes to fixate on these areas before they really get down to business, kissing each one he’s been there to see and each one he’s missed, like he’s sorry for them all. But today Sam doesn’t pay special attention to any of them; instead he reaches for Dean’s boxers and pulls them off between kisses, kicks them to the floor like an afterthought, and doesn’t pause to breathe as he bends to put his impossibly hot mouth to Dean’s hard dick, pulling him in with one slow, long suck. Dean has to squeeze his eyes shut and calm his breathing, curling his hands into the sheets with the sudden wet heat surrounding his cock.

Sam goes slow, torturously so, and Dean can only breathe evenly for a minute before his breaths become erratic. Sam sucks him in deep, licking down the underside, and he pauses at the base to fit Dean in as deep as he can, and sometimes he’ll swallow, and Dean’s cock will bob against the back of Sam’s throat, and one of these times, it will be too much. Dean can feel the pressure building from his toes up until Sam has to hold his hips down from bucking, until the spit and precome in Sam’s mouth spills into Dean’s pubes and makes everything down there a hot, sticky mess, and Dean can’t take it anymore, Sam’s slow suction and soft tongue, the friction from his throat, and Dean comes shouting nothing, just a long guttural moan that sounds incredibly beautiful in the emptied room, clean, bare, stripped down to just Dean and Sam.

It takes Dean a moment to calm down and open his eyes. He pulls Sam up and kisses him soundly, tasting the bitterness on his tongue, smelling himself on Sam’s lips, all the way down his chin where moisture has gathered. Dean carefully licks it away, making Sam’s eyes crinkle and his mouth turn up into a wicked smile.

“Now fuck me?” Dean asks almost playfully, but his eyes are serious and clear. The grip he has on Sam’s bicep is attempting to stay loose, but he clenches his fingers when Sam doesn’t answer immediately.

“Yeah,” Sam finally whispers, and slides out of his boxers in one quick, fluid motion before returning to lie between Dean’s legs. Sam brushes a soft kiss over his mouth, pulling away even as Dean pushes up to keep the contact. Dean makes a low growl in the back of his throat and Sam laughs, pushing him back down on the bed.

“Do you want this or not?” Sam asks, a small smile on his face, eyebrows raised. Dean lifts his legs up in response until Sam has a clear view of Dean’s ass and the tight, dark pucker of his hole. Sam keeps his eyes on Dean’s face as he leans over for the only remaining contents of their bedside drawer and pulls out the condom and a stick of lube, his dick twitching when Dean inhales sharply and moans, eyes dropping shut.

“Sam, god. _Sam._” Dean whispers, swallowing thickly. He’s still mostly soft, Sam notes, but Sam knows what Dean’s anticipating, the feel of his dick inside of him, thick and blunt and hitting just the right spot. Sam breathes through his mouth and rolls the condom on, then tosses the wrapper and pops open the cap for the lube. Dean is only marginally impatient, and his hand reaches out to help Sam spread the lube. Sam moans quietly, letting himself enjoy Dean’s hand on him, warming up the gel almost instantly, watching as Dean’s cock fills and hardens again. Then he pushes his hands away reluctantly and grabs Dean’s leg with one hand, pushing it slightly higher.

Dean bends back gracefully, dropping his legs open wider, completely relaxed. Sam presses one lube-slicked finger into him with little resistance, and then another, still marveling at how easy Dean opens up for him, how much he trusts Sam not to hurt him. Sam pushes his fingers in and out, in and out, the little noises that movement makes nothing compared to what comes after, what makes Sam’s blood pound and pulse spike, what will have Dean grunting and moaning, hands digging into Sam’s shoulders.

Dean grunts and flashes Sam a look, eyes darker now that the light is almost gone, impossible to read if Sam didn’t already know exactly what Dean needed. He takes his time opening him up, enjoying the way with every push in, Dean’s forehead scrunches up a bit more and his mouth drops open a tad wider.

Finally, when Sam feels Dean is at the end of his patience, he lifts Dean’s hips up on his thighs and lines his cock up with one hand. He pushes in slowly, grunting with the effort because no matter how loose Dean is with his fingers, Sam’s cock is much larger, and Dean has to take deep breaths and clutches at Sam’s forearm with one hand, taking him in. Sam likes to go agonizingly slow to feel every shudder Dean makes, and when he at last is all the way in, Dean releases his grip from Sam’s arm and drops back and closes his eyes.

Then Sam starts moving, pulling back and then canting his hips forward, his lip caught between his teeth because it takes all his concentration not to go fast and deep, trying to keep the pace slow and shallow at first. Dean’s breathing speeds up as he struggles not to push back, his dick leaking precome onto his stomach when everything about his restraint is screaming harder, faster.

Sam takes a deep breath and slides in deep, then deeper the next time, but his pace is still languorously slow and sweat has broken out along the backs of Dean’s thighs, just under his ass, so that Sam can feel the moisture when he pushes Dean’s legs up higher. The angle changes slightly, and suddenly Sam is sliding in so deep that Dean gasps, his eyes snapping open, a sharp cry torn from his lips.

“Fuck yes,” Dean’s panting. He rocks with Sam now, back and forth, wanting him so deep Sam’s not sure he can last much longer.

Sam settles for a pace between fast and slow, not wanting the sensation of being inside Dean to end, the tight press and slick heat all around him perfect. He’s so hard, the slightest squeeze from Dean could set him off. He keeps the rhythm and holds off the orgasm a little longer, gasping and breathing in tandem with Dean’s breaths, watching the dark outline of his figure writhe on the bed.

Sam pushes in and runs his hands down the sides of Dean’s thighs, muscles taut from exertion, damp with sweat, and the further up Dean’s thighs, the smoother the skin and less hair there is, firm and so much of what Sam loves about Dean’s body. Toned muscle where it matters, where they’ll need it when push comes to shove, but softer in the little places, like the slight love handles showing when Dean’s bent like this, keening at Sam’s touch. Sam loves the soft spots as much as the hard, and he gives equal amounts attention to Dean’s aching cock as he would a languid make-out session with Dean’s hips.

“Fuck, Sam!” Dean licks his lips and pants sharply with every thrust Sam makes. Sam braces himself against Dean, Dean’s cock brushing up against his stomach when Sam fucks him deep and fast, finally, faster than before, a limit to Sam’s control that’s just been broken and all Sam can see are stars, fizzing out into white as he comes, groaning long and loud with his head dropping to Dean’s chest, warm puffs of air on the damp skin there.

His heart slows down, and Dean lies still until he pulls out. Then Dean reaches over and turns on the single lamp on the tiny dresser before falling back, Sam still lying between his legs. Sam looks up and sees Dean’s closed eyes, the bitten look of his lips and imagines his aren’t much better. He palms Dean’s still swollen cock and Dean hisses, eyebrows scrunching up in that way Sam loves that creases his forehead.

Sam jerks him off slow and hard, and Dean comes shortly after when Sam sucks two fingers into his mouth before he pushes them gently into Dean’s tender hole.

Dean smiles and tugs until Sam is lying next to him. He pulls Sam close with an arm around his shoulders.

Sam shifts his nose behind Dean’s ear, eyes already closing as he whispers, “Boxes.”

“Tomorrow.” Dean rumbles, voice crackly. There’s no rush, no more clutter. Just him and Sam, together, wherever they decide to go.

  
the end.


End file.
